


Respect. Power. Life.

by melian225



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Betrayal, Community: HPFT, First War with Voldemort, Friendship, Gen, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 12:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melian225/pseuds/melian225
Summary: Peter Pettigrew receives an unexpected owl.





	1. ONE

The note was intriguing. Unsigned, from an owl he didn’t recognise, it just asked him to go to his local pub at five o’clock on Tuesday. Well, the rest of the gang weren’t around, so why the heck not, he thought. He was old enough for a legal drink, and he had the same right to sit in his local for a few hours nursing a pint or two as anyone else did.

Because it was a Muggle area, he wasn’t sure who or what to expect, but he figured they’d be in Muggle attire. He wasn’t expecting the witch who came to speak to him to look so much like, really, a _witch_. Sure, she wasn’t wearing robes or the pointy hat, and she didn’t have her wand out, but there was still something distinctively _magical_ about her.

Peter fingered his wand underneath the table. There was a war on, after all, and he wasn’t really sure what to expect. What he was confident of, though, was that he would be able to defend himself. The gang had taught him enough to do that.

Thinking about them, he wouldn’t have minded having one of them with him. James or Sirius, preferably. Remus was great, but he wasn’t as confident in himself as the others were and might panic in a fight.

Kind of like Peter was.

The witch saw Peter and made a beeline for his table, making subtle movements towards the tables nearby that he recognised as that white noise spell that Snape had come up with. He wondered how she knew it.

“You came,” she said, her voice a little breathy, like she’d been running and wasn’t used to it.

He kept hold of his wand. “Who are you?” he asked. “And what’s this about?”

She smiled, a somewhat disconcerting smile. “Power,” she said.

He was sceptical. “Power?”

She nodded. “Power is a great thing, Peter. Something that is bestowed on great wizards.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Then you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not great.” He picked up his half-empty pint and took a sip to mask the expression on his face.

The woman was watching him. “I think not.”

He shook his head. “You want power, you need to talk to James. Or Sirius. Look, did you want me to owl them or something?”

“I need to talk to you, Peter Pettigrew. You have power. You just don’t realise it yet.”

“Right.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Go on. Tell me how I’m supposed to have power.”

“You have all the elements we are looking for,” she said, that unnerving smile returning to her face. “A good mind. The ability to learn difficult tasks and perform complex spells. The trust of Albus Dumbledore.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And, most important, the ability to go unnoticed.”

He rolled his eyes. “Unnoticed? Yeah, that’s me.” He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but it was true. Everyone noticed James and Sirius. People even noticed Remus. But him? He was an afterthought, someone allowed to tag along but never invited in their own right. “But how does someone unnoticed have power? Isn’t that, like, an oxymoron?”

He was proud of knowing that word. Proof he wasn’t as stupid as so many people thought. And, of course, he couldn’t be stupid, could he? He was an Animagus, after all. Not everyone was able to pull that kind of magic off when they were just in fifth year.

The woman laughed. “But the unnoticed have all the power, Peter. Don’t you see? You can go anywhere and no one will tell you to leave. You can listen to any conversation and no one will move away to stop you overhearing. You can find out _anything._ ”

“And how is that useful?”

She shook her head and looked at him fondly. “You still don’t get it, do you, Peter? We want you to become a spy.”

“A spy?” He was still sceptical. “To spy on who?”

She smiled again, and her face was changing as she did so; she had clearly taken some Polyjuice Potion that was wearing off. A haughty-looking woman was emerging, hooded eyes cold, lips painted the colour of blood.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, her long red fingernails caressing his arm. “We want you to spy on Albus Dumbledore.”


	2. TWO

He stared at her in astonishment, her appearance evoking as much shock as her words. “You’re … you’re Bellatrix Lestrange!”

She smiled again, and he realised that the unnerving expression had been hers all along, not that of the person she’d been impersonating. He found that fact more disquieting than he possibly should have.

“I see my fame precedes me,” she said. “So, have I convinced you?”

Peter spluttered in his drink. “NO!” he almost shouted. “I’m not going to join _you_! You’re … you’re … you’re with HIM.”

“The Dark Lord?” she almost purred. “The man who will soon rule magical England? Why yes, I am.”

“I can’t join _you_!” he repeated. “I’m working against you! I’m … I’m with the Order of the Phoenix!”

He realised too late that he probably shouldn’t have said that, but he figured she most likely knew it anyway.

“Exactly,” she said, and he felt like he could physically feel her eyes on him. Being the sole subject of someone like Bellatrix Lestrange’s attention could be intoxicating, especially for someone who was used to being ignored. “Which is why you’re perfect.”

He shook his head. “No. No, I can’t do it. It’s _wrong_.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s so wrong about it, Peter? What’s so wrong about joining people who recognise and celebrate your abilities? What’s so wrong about _not_ being the butt of everyone’s jokes? What’s so wrong about standing tall and becoming the man you always wanted to be?”

He gritted his teeth. “By betraying my friends? What sort of person do you think I am?”

“But are they really your friends? How often do they seek you out, write to you, include you as anything but an afterthought?” She smiled again. “I know my cousin, Peter. I know the person he is. He’s not interested in anyone who can’t keep up with him – if it weren’t for the werewolf, he’d have severed ties with you long ago. And if he did, what would stop Potter from doing the same? Face it, Peter. They see you as unnecessary baggage. They were never really your friends.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course they’re my friends.”

She laughed openly, and he started at the juxtaposition of her mirthful sound and the implications of what she was asking of him. “No, they’re not. I’ve seen them, Peter. They laugh at you. They ignore you. They treat you with contempt. Every single joke my cousin makes has you as the patsy. That’s not friendship. If anything, they’re using you.”

He shook his head again. “No they’re not. We’ve been friends for eight years. _Good_ friends.” He took a breath. “And the moment I tell them you tried to recruit me –”

She cut him off. “Peter, Peter, Peter. What on earth makes you think I’ll let you say a word to them about this?”

He stopped short. “What?”

She leaned towards him, so close he could feel her breath. “If you say no to this offer, Peter, then you will die.”


	3. THREE

She’d given him two days, till Thursday. Two days to think it over. Two days to figure out what was more important, his life or his principles.

He used that time to read the _Daily Prophet_ from cover to cover, to see where the war was really going. To speak to Dumbledore about the Order’s prospects. To judge for himself what was happening out there.

To be honest, it wasn’t looking good for the Order. Voldemort was taking over everywhere … rumour was half the Ministry departments were under his control, and the editorial content of the _Prophet_ was becoming suspect. The Dark Mark was appearing just about everywhere – it seemed that every day there was a new tale of it hovering above the house of one or other of those who resisted it. In a sense, it was amazing that the four of them – him, James, Sirius and Remus – were still alive at all.

Of course, he didn’t tell anyone about what Bellatrix Lestrange had said to him. He couldn’t. She said if he did, she would know, and not only would she kill him but also his mother. Peter wasn’t prepared for that, and had extracted a promise that if he refused the offer, his mother would be safe. He would die, but not her. He wasn’t sure how much he trusted a promise from Bellatrix Lestrange, but it was better than nothing.

He flung the newspaper down, running his fingers through his hair. He was convinced it was already thinning, and he felt that if he kept on with this amount of stress pretty soon he’d have none at all. Bah. Something else that James and Sirius would never have to worry about.

James and Sirius. He’d seen them both the day before, along with Remus, and he’d used the time to watch their behaviour and think about what Bellatrix had said. The trouble was, he was beginning to see her point. They _did_ make fun of him, they _did_ ignore what he thought, they _did_ make him the butt of all their jokes. Even Remus was doing it, and he was usually the nice one.

Wait. _The nice one??_ Where had _that_ thought come from? They were _all_ nice; they were his friends. But still, it nagged at him. James and Sirius in particular had a nasty habit of talking down to him, as though he wouldn’t understand them if they addressed him like they did each other. And Lily was almost as bad, laughing with them all the time. Okay, he admitted, she did sometimes have words to James about the way he treated Peter. But not often. And not nearly enough.

He began to think what it would be like to get one over James and Sirius. Fool them, act behind their backs and have them never suspect a thing. It was a lot more seductive than he wanted to admit. Years of resentment began piling up in his brain, years of memories of always being the tagger-on, the extra, the one trailing behind. The unnecessary one, the one who was never seen, never listened to, never taken seriously. The one who was tolerated rather than welcomed.

He recalled the Animagus transformations, how James and Sirius had been so impatient with him, not wanting to give him the time he needed to get it right because they could already do it. Because everything was so easy for them, they expected it to be easy for him too. And they’d never bothered to understand that it wasn’t.

Bellatrix was right. He’d never really been part of the group. He was there due to proximity only; if he’d not shared a dorm with them, they would never have given him the time of day.

And, of course, there was the threat. _If you say no to this offer, Peter, then you will die._ Yes, there was a war on and he could in theory die at any moment. But he liked to think that he had a say in his eventual demise, and that it would be further away than Thursday.

Geez. On Thursday he might be dead. The idea rattled him badly.

Unless …

He couldn’t believe he was even considering it. Joining the Death Eaters? Spying on Dumbledore? What on earth was he thinking???

_Get one over James and Sirius. Show them what you’re capable of._

_Get treated with respect._

_Earn a place, high up, in the winning team._

_Stay alive._

_Have power._

“Are you all right, Peter?” came his mother’s voice from the next room. “What are you muttering to yourself about?”

He started; he’d forgotten she was even home. “Nothing, Mum,” he said brightly. “It’s all fine.”


	4. FOUR

He met Bellatrix that afternoon, heart thumping so loudly in his chest that he was sure she’d be able to hear it. She’d chosen the same pub, the same table, the same Polyjuiced disguise, though of course he recognised her at once.

“You came,” she said, echoing their first meeting two days earlier. “Good. I was afraid I’d have to go to your house and dispose of you.”

He smiled. “I might be harder to track than you would think.”

“Turn into a rat here and your mother dies.” Her voice was hard and heavy with the threat. He started.

“You … you know about that?”

That evil smile returned. “I know everything, Peter Pettigrew. You think we haven’t seen you transform when you want to get away from someone?” Her nail ran up his arm again. “One of the other reasons we approached you.”

He swallowed. It did sound, though, like she didn’t know about James and Sirius. That could be useful … he could use it as new information for them, help gain their trust.

Filing that information away, he changed the subject. “The Penmanshiel Tunnel collapse. Was that your lot?”

She smiled again. “Of course it was. Though it wasn’t as successful as I would have liked.” Her expression soured. “Only two fatalities.”

“And how many were you hoping for?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, at least a dozen,” she said. “Muggle lovers, the lot of them.” Her scorn was obvious. “They can’t see the big picture, Peter. We need to show it to them.”

He hesitated. “We?”

She looked surprised. “Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To join us?” She matched his pause, then continued. “You do realise we’ve been watching you these last two days, don’t you? To make sure you didn’t say anything you shouldn’t.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t.” He glanced at the window – if he looked hard enough, he could see his house from here.

“I know.” Her scarlet fingernail traced the back of his hand. “That is why your mother is still alive.”

“And me?” He couldn’t help himself.

“You, my dear, are a special case. If you say the wrong thing today, you will learn the effects of not one, but two of the curses they call Unforgiveable.”

He thought frantically. If what he had heard about Bellatrix was correct, that meant _Crucio_ and _Avada Kedavra_. Torture and then death.

And, there was always that thing about fooling the others. Being so much better than they ever thought he could be.

And, of course, staying alive beyond today.

“We promise you the respect you are due,” she said in a whisper. Her tone was seductive, her words lingering. “Respect, Peter. Power. And the opportunity to be a part of the winning team.”

_Respect. Power. Life_. It wasn’t just her voice that was seductive.

She watched him, her finger tracing the rim of her glass. The silence was deafening.

Peter felt he had to break it … and break something else. Promises made as a teenager, ridiculous in their naiveté. “Yes,” he said finally. “Yes. I’m in.”


End file.
